She Will Rise Again
by jcforever19
Summary: Oneshot collection about various events that take place before/during/after anastasia.
1. Music Box

_There was a time, not so long ago, when we lived in an enchanted world full of grand parties and elegant ball gowns. The year was 1916. And my son Nicholas…was the czar of imperial Russia._

_We were celebrating the three-hundredth anniversary of our family's rule. And that night, no star shined brighter than that of our sweet Anastasia._

* * *

Marie loved Anastasia most of all her grandchildren. The youngest of the lot, Anastasia was bright-eyed and fiery and lovable. She loved the other little ones, of course, but something about her darling Nastya was so precious, so wonderful, that she could hardly bear the separation that was to come. She was moving to Paris soon; she saw it best in light of the situation here in Russia. The Romanovs had been on the throne for three hundred years, yes; however, in the last decade or so, it had seemed like something had enshrouded their rule, something portending to darkness. Marie could not help but feel a foreboding sense of loss ahead.

And so with a solemn heart it was, that Marie was moving to Paris.

Anastasia had been told the news just a fortnight ago, and it already pained her; her grandmother was as dear to her as her sisters, even more perhaps. In her grandmother, she found a sense of belonging, a sense of home.

To make the separation easier for both of them, she had gotten her a necklace and a music box encrusted in emeralds, custom made by Carl Faberge of course. The necklace, gold plated with a forest green flower pendant, boasted one sparkling ruby amidst the petals. Across the back, tiny capital letters crudely formed an arc across the top- "Together in Paris."

And as Anastasia bounded up the steps towards her, hitching up her beautiful blue and gold silk gown, Marie's heart swelled in pure love.

"I leave for Paris next week, Nastya. You will come to visit, yes?"

Anastasia's eyes, like saucers, bore into Marie's with a kind of probing sadness. "If Papa allows us, I'll visit every month."

Marie smiled at Anastasia's childish impishness, but her heart ached. She slipped the music box and the necklace into Anastasia's palm. "I… thought this would make the separation easier for both of us."

Anastasia closely examined the necklace, reading the words on the back aloud. "Really?" Her blue eyes lit up once again, and her whole face brightened.

"It's to sing you to sleep when I'm in Paris. It plays our lullaby." Marie found her voice breaking, the unfamiliar feeling of a lump lodging in her throat rendering her unable to speak. However, she hummed along silently, as Anastasia slowly turned the necklace in the music box's keyhole. The notes of the song were forever embedded in her heart.

_On the wind_

_Cross the sea_

_Hear this song and remember_

_Soon you'll be home with me_

_Once upon a December._

And Anastasia looks up at her with a tearful grin. "Oh _grandmama!_" And they embrace, for the last time in what would soon seem like forever.

* * *

**A/N : This is the first of my oneshot collection for Anastasia. I've loved this movie since I was eight, still do at fifteen. I wanted to write more about this movie, considering how much I love it. I'll update this every so often with little drabbles about various events that happen during/before/after the film. **

**I would appreciate feedback, so please leave a review! :)**


	2. Fish Factory

Carrying a basket of fish in one hand and a stack of ration tickets in the other, Anya hurried past the old beggars in the corner of the Leningrad fish market and trudged through the masses. She grimaced at the sight of the greasy, tired fisherwomen that bustled all around her; this was soon to be her fate as well.

In another two years, maybe even less, she'd be sent here by that old hag of a woman, Comrade Phlegmenkoff. She'd forever smell of seaweed and saltwater, and she'd probably scrounge by in a tenement or a shack like her friend Karina, who'd left the orphanage two years ago herself. Karina had recently married a rough man double her age who worked in the factories from six in the morning to nine at night. Karina was content; she'd never expected more.

Anya supposed that was her problem. She'd always wondered if there was more to life than the fish factory, something more for her than being a wife to some man hardened by labour, something more than becoming one of those weathered women whose lives were spent in earnest hours at a factory, working to supplement whatever meagre income their husbands could cadge.

Karine had once advised her to avoid that path if she so wished, by selling her necklace. It would earn her at least a hundred rubles, which was no small startup sum in theses hard times. She had even taken Anya to a broken toothed peddler in the annals of Leningrad, who specialized in fine jewelry and antiques. He offered to buy it for hundred and fifty rubles and offered twenty more if she did the dirty deed with him.

She tastefully refused both offers and had angrily stormed out, Karina in tow, but not before she heard him mutter that she was a _picky_ girl. The nerve of these men! Karina said she knew others who would buy it, but Anya turned down the offers. Karina's urging only created a sense of defiance in her; she would _not _sell it.

Anya couldn't sell it. It would be like selling a part of herself. It was all that she had left to comfort herself with, the only clue she had as to where she came from, who she was. The only gift she'd ever received in the latter half of sixteen years. Above all, it was a sign that someone cared. That she had once known affection of some sort before she'd been brought to the vile people's orphanage in Ivangorod.

In fact, she often stroked the pendant as if it were a child; and would rotate it in her fingers as she fell asleep humming to the tune of some maddeningly familiar yet distant tune she would have sworn she'd once heard. She never took it off. To part with it was to lose any hope of a future.

* * *

Two years later, Anya was walking through the fisher's market again. It was her last time going as an affiliate of the orphanage. Tomorrow would be her first time as a fisherwoman who was going to gut and clean fish. It was a poor paying job, even less than she had expected at a mere stipend of sixty rubles per month.

Somehow, she still didn't see herself in the role. All her life, she'd played the role of Anya the dream-filled orphan, not very different from the other children harboring the secret hope someone would come for them. She had played the role of an errand runner for the orphanage Comrades. She'd played the role of an elder sister to some of the little children.

The one role she did not see herself playing, was a fish woman. And honestly, that kind of a life wasn't appealing in the least to her. It wasn't worth living like that. Dread of the prospect of being forced to _actually_ live it had filled her for the last week.

It was not surprising then, that she got little sleep the night before she was leaving for the fish factory. It didn't help that her nightmares were full of mysteriously vanishing plumes of green smoke that would appear and then suddenly die as well as a recurring image of a demon-like man with shockingly long nails who cackled and cackled.

She awoke with a heavy heart and a fearful outlook the following morning, covered in her own sweat. She numbly headed to take a bath- pouring a bucket of cold water over herself. She didn't understand the point; the water was freezing, and she would smell horrible again in a few hours after handling the fish.

She dressed herself in one of her two alternating rags, slipped on her oversized coat and a pair of worn-out leggings with holes in the footing. She stashed her frayed purple scarf in the left pocket of her coat, and forced her feet into boots that were a bit small for her. Grabbing her coat and taking a last look at the room she'd shared with five other children, she exited the doors of the orphanage for the last time, greeted with the sound of children screaming solemn goodbyes from the upper floors. She waved and waved as Comrade Phlegmenkoff told her all about her_ wonderful _new job.

"How is it you don't have a clue as to who you were before you came to us?" Phlegmenkoff asked her in a sinister tone, almost demanding an answer as they walked down the snow-covered cobblestone path to the front gates.

"I do have a clue-" She raised her necklace's pendant, and Comrade Phlegmenkoff scoffed. "Achh!" Some of her spit landed on Anya's upper button.

"So you want to go to Paris to find your family, huh?"

_That's when it clicked. _

_Maybe…just maybe..._

"Little Ms. Anya, it's time to take your place in life and in line. And be grateful too."

She pushed Anya out the gates, laughing that despicable laugh. The seeds had been sown.


	3. Liar

The night sky had clouded over and the cobblestone steps of the Opéra Garnier were glistening with fresh raindrops, leaving them slick and damp. "Great." Dimitri mumbled to himself. "Just what we need." Behind him, Vlad was pacing back and forth, his eyes darting from the floor and back to the front doors, where festively dressed couples were talking and animatedly making their way into the hall. It annoyed Dimitri; there was absolutely _nothing_ to be worried about.

**Anya was the princess.** It was just as Anya had said herself a week earlier; the empress would certainly know right away. The empress would give him the reward money and Anya would live with her grandmother and they would part once and for all. He should be hadn't known it, but the real Anastasia had been handed to him on a silver plate, and now it was his turn to hand her on a silver plate back to her grandmother. Things were going to be how they should have been along.

_Why was he so utterly miserable then?_

Why did he feel like the ultimate con-artist? He wasn't even conning Marie; Anya really was _her_. She really was Anastasia. So why did it still feel like he had duped Anya; tricked her? He felt no better than usual. He berated himself with the usual terms. _Lying cheat, con-man, petty thief, forger, __**liar**__._

_The simple truth was, _he was a con man. He depended on dishonesty and other people's vulnerability to make a living, and no matter what intentions were now, they certainly hadn't been very... _benevolent_ or charitable in the beginning. He couldn't deny that. This journey had been fueled by nothing but greed when he'd first started out. But soon, he'd found more value in the race than the reward, and Anya seemed more attractive to him than the ten million rubles.

It was almost ironic. He'd wanted her answer to Sophie to be made-up drivel, something she'd either come up, or the story Vlad and him had taught her. He almost _hoped _she wouldn't be the princess. He would offer to let her stay with him and Vlad, since she had nowhere else...and then...

And then he'd heard her say those words. They changed everything. Out of the millions of girls in Russia, the thousands who'd auditioned after being short-listed, the hundreds more who hadn't even made it as far as that, _ he'd found the heir to the Russian throne. _He'd found her by complete and absolute luck.

"_There was a boy in the palace...he opened a wall..." _

She phrased it more like a question than a response, doubting her memory.

In a moment, it was all vaguely thrust aside. Sophie was laughing, Vlad was spinning Anya around the room, and Dimitri felt like he'd just been shot. Was this some cruel joke? Karma?

Was he getting what he deserved? The moment he laid hands on the ten million rubles, he would lose Anya forever. It was a barbaric twist of fate.

* * *

Vlad's pacing had finally gotten on his nerves. She _was_ the princess, damn it!

"Vlad." The deathly tone in his voice alerted Vlad to turn his head right away. He looked at Dimitri with an air of sympathy; the boy had been brooding ever since the interview with his Sophie...

"I was the boy. The boy who opened the wall." He states stoically; cold, free of emotion.

Vlad looked at him amazed. For a second, his lips were paralyzed and he could not speak.  
_"We have found- the... heir to the Russian throne." _And he realized something else as he spoke.

"Our Anya has found her family…" He said, weakly. He looked at Dimitri again, with a wistful sigh, realizing there was a solemn and unexplored possibility he had yet to address since the night on the ship.

"And you?"

"Will walk out of her life forever." Dimitri stated, simply and casually, as if it means nothing to him, like it's just a kopek or two lost, or a piece of bread.

**_Because princesses don't marry kitchen boys._**


	4. Champagne

_Paris holds the key to her past;_  
_Yes, Princess, I've found you at last._  
_No more pretend,_  
_You'll be gone; _  
_Thats the end._

* * *

Sophie had spotted an old friend of hers and rushed across to meet her. And Anya, oh Anya, was spinning, twirling in that dazzling purple dress she'd bought from Chanel, with a man who'd invited her to dance. That left a disillusioned Dimitri and a lovestruck Vladimir at the table they'd reserved at Moulin Rouge. Vlad had barely paid attention to Dimitri's sullenness; he was too caught up in the excitement of seeing his darling Sophie again.

But tonight, Dimitri seemed even more gloomy than he had been all the last few nights combined.

The Moulin Rouge was spectacular. The dazzling lights, the zest of the can-can dancers. Everything was just beautiful. The scintillation was brilliant, even the courses were delicious. Salmon, a tangy salad, and champagne. Anya had drunk half of hers. Dimitri hadn't drunk a single drop. Vlad wondered why; Dimitri loved to celebrate things with a glass of champagne…when they could afford it. No doubt Sophie had taken caution to only show them around the finest places in town. Maybe Dimitri was feeling overwhelmed by Paris...

Vlad filled both his glass and Dimitri's and filled them both to the brim. He smiled warmly at a wan Dimitri. "What do you say m'boy?" He pushed his glasses back onto his nose. "A toast to the grand duchess _Anastasia_?" His eyes twinkled with mischief. Dimitri's reflected emptiness. He sighed and pushed a tired hand through his hair.

After a second or so, he shook his head. "What's to celebrate?"

Vlad sensed something was seriously wrong. He had been too neglecting of the boy's emotions ever since he'd found his lovely little morsel Sophie, the radiant delight she was...

"What's wrong?"

_"Everything."_ Dimitri insisted, his hands closing around the glass of champagne. The light fell on his eyes, making them look even more glazed against his shiny, slick suit and the gaudy backdrop of the cabaret.

"We never should have held auditions or left Russia…" He trailed off, back to thoughts of home. He'd thought about that ever since Anya had mentioned it. Where was home?

"Homesick?" Vlad chuckled. "Far from it." Dimitri replied dryly.

"Ahh, the unspoken attraction. What else could it be?" Vlad smirked knowingly.

"God damn it Vlad the next time you mention-"

"You're afraid to lose Anya." Vlad stated simply.

Dimitri picked up his glass. A glass like this probably cost double what it took to buy food for a month in Saint Petersburg. He glanced at Anya still gracefully twirling. The dress was so beautiful on her. The last couple of nights she'd transformed from a raggedy girl in in a worn out yellow tunic to a Chanel wearing beauty.

"It's an interesting possibility." Dimitri finally announced, looking back up at Vlad with a clear expression.

"You've got to tell her."

"And do what? Beg her to join us in our wonderful mansion back in Russia? Beg her to join me in the art of conning others to get by?" He snorted. "We don't have much to offer."

"We offered her another chance at life."

"That's different." Even as he said it, he felt the dread coming on. "We did it for the ten million rubles."

"Well, my boy, if you won't tell her, at least _dance_ with her. You didn't learn to dance so you could sit here and wallow in misery."

Sophie was walking back to the table and she picked up Vlad to introduce him to someone. Vlad gave Dimitri a quick pat on the shoulder.

Dimitri mustered up all his courage and walked over to Anya, who was now standing besides a man in a grey suit and a purple tie.

He cut in and offered his hand. "May I, Anya?"

Anya grinned. "No cutting remarks about my posture or table manners in three days? I'm impressed."

"I have tons of time for that tomorrow before the ballet." He held her waist and spun her around.

The funny thing was, he had been feeling light headed before they had even started to dance.

* * *

**A/N: There's this one short scene in the movie where they show Dimitri and Anya sitting together at the table in the can can dancing club, and I've always wanted to expand a little on that scene since Dimitri appears so wistful and slightly heartbroken during it. I'd like to think they danced after he held up his champagne :)**


	5. Hope, Part I

Hope came in a lot of forms.

To Dimitri, Anya was a hope at a reformed life. Something to get him away from the forged papers, the stolen goods, the days he and Vlad had spent cold and hungry. Something to get him away from the thousands of people, who like him, needed life support. Something to get him away from people who needed more than bland soup and frayed blankets on nights when they wished they lived anywhere but Saint Petersburg.

He needed Anya so he could forget the various Russian girls he'd been with over the years, the loveless women with the greedy eyes, the ones who would do anything to make a few extra kopeks.

He needed Anya to _forget_. Around her, he was the boy who'd opened a wall, who'd nobly restored her to her family and to Russia. Without her, he remained a crook; a cheat, a liar, a street rat. Without her, he remained a con man with a keen sense of shrewdness and an aptitude for larceny. Without her, he remained a child of the dusty cobbled streets of a town where he was one in a million liars.

He needed Anya to show himself he was _capable_ of forming a relationship with someone other than Vlad. He wanted so very badly to show himself he could grow to trust someone, learn to rely on someone other than himself.

But Anya was lost to him, and along with her, all the things she'd left him with - love, a newfound reason to live, and a home. Dimitri looked up at the window, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He blew a kiss to the soon to be empress of Russia and walked down the street, his black ripoff cape from Saint Petersburg swishing behind him as he walked. The wind was bitter and unwelcoming, and it carried with it despondent memories of an isolated past.

All hope was lost.


End file.
